God knows it hurts
by Lecaor
Summary: Set in season 7. (spoilers) AU. Dean finally breaks down months after Castiel's death. Sam is there to comfort him. But when an accident occurs and Dean is in need of real saving, Sam's comforts can't heal the wounds that bleed. Only powers from Heaven can save him now. Or...at least...a fallen angel's power. (destiel) hurt!Dean comforting!Sam


**The length of this is unknown right now. I suppose it'll go on until...well I guess until it ends in pain and DEATH. NO. no. I'm just kidding...maybe. Well maybe not. Anyways, I hope this beginning is a good starter. Reviews would help out more than you think. They really, honestly, help boost my confidence/help my writing. (which means if you see something wrong, or if the style is confusing, PLEASE please let me know). **

**On with the story then!**

"Dean!" Sam took his brother's arm and jerked him backwards, just as his leg was lifting, ready to kick the wooden door again. Dean stumbled to the railing on the porch and grabbed it just before he fell over.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean huffed as Sam bent down to begin picking the lock, the proper and fastest way to breaking into a vacant house. If they were going to be staying here for a few nights, then they were going to take every precaution available in order to not draw attention to themselves. A kicked in door wasn't going to help that cause, no matter how far out in the country they were.

"There." Sam announced as he heard the lock click.

Dean came up behind him and shoved him to the ground with a smirk, throwing the door open and marching in with what dignity he had left. Sam gathered himself to his feet and sighed as he grabbed the bags left at the top stair. Leave it to Dean to make him bell hop.

"Any damned spirits had better leave right this damn second!" Sam heard Dean yelling from another room as he entered the house. He shut the door behind him and threw the bags into the ground.

"Not in the damn mood!"

"Dean, I doubt there's a ghost friend in the most random house in the country." Sam pointed out as he walked into the living room – or what seemed like a living room – and found his brother sprawled out on the sofa occupying the very center of the room.

"You mean ugliest house." Dean corrected, taking in the dust covered furniture and hole-stricken walls. "Look at this place. It's a freakin' haunted house from Scary Movie four."

Sam did feel the eeriness of the house, but come on, it was old, vacant, and not kept up. Sure, the bullet holes in the wall were a bit creepy, but who didn't like to shoot off a few rounds once in a while?

"Check the kitchen, Sammy, will you?" Dean asked, tipping his head back over the edge of the sofa, grinning his stupid smile he always used to pick up women. "I'm starving."

Sam, who had just started to pull out his laptop from a bag he'd brought into the room, stopped midway and sighed. "I swear, Dean, if I didn't know any better I'd think you thought you were at a hotel."

Dean winked and shot him a bird. "You thought right of my thinking."

Sam threw his laptop on the couch at Dean's feet, huffing as he left the room in search of the kitchen.

"What do you me want to do with this?" Dean called after his brother, picking up the black laptop and lifting the screen up, holding it far from his face as if it were alien to him. "We don't have a case Sammy, don't make this vacation work!"

Sam, who had just located the correct room, laughed to himself. "If you call staying in a run-down house vacation!"

"Well if you call wasting money on a damn GPS…"

"Dean!" Sam yelled, throwing open the fridge door to find nothing and shutting it back in frustration. "Just look up where the nearest bank is!"

No reply came from the other room, and Sam took that as a silence worth valuing. He continued the search of the kitchen, which in terms looked as run-down as the living room. He knew he wouldn't find any food. Who knew how long it had been since this house had been lived in? Instead, he was looking for anything left over by the previous owners; in particular: tape.

When the search came to naught, Sam decided the sticky paper would have to wait until they had enough money to buy – well – anything really. Yeah, maybe he should've waited to buy the GPS, but Dean shouldn't have gambled the rest of their cash away either.

"Dean, I'm serious dude. We have got to stop wasting-"

Sam stopped in the doorway of the living room. Dean, who he thought was busy trying to figure out the mysteries of google maps, was staring at the bright screen, eyes soft and watered.

"Dean…" Sam said, unsure. No response came from his older brother, who sat shock still on the couch. His hand, Sam noticed, was hovering just in front of the screen, as if trying to keep himself from touching something on it. Sam walked over to the side of the couch and looked at what his brother was staring at.

He should've known. Hell, why hadn't he deleted it? Dean, to his surprise, obviously knew how to maneuver around a computer's files. And that's why he was staring at a picture of himself, sitting on Bobby's couch surrounded by books and papers, and beside him, his face relaxed and thrown back as if sleeping, except with eyes open, was an angel.

Sam heard a small breath escape Dean's lips. The older hunter let his hand fall as his eyes closed.

"Dean…I'm sorry. I didn't know…"

Sam stopped, unsure of what he should say. God, how could he be so stupid? He knew what Castiel's death had done to Dean. God, he knew! He hadn't talked for weeks, even when cases came up and passed away, rejected by the two brothers who still grieved the loss of a friend. When Dean did talk again, it had been when Sam had nearly gotten himself killed with food poisoning. After that, it seemed like a distant nightmare to him. To Dean? Only God knew what Dean was thinking and feeling. But the picture? Hell, why had he even taken it? Yeah, it had been an odd thing to do, but the opportunity was available and _damn_, could they be any more obvious? It had been taken with the intention of blackmail in the future. Not this though. Not Dean finding it after what happened.

Sam sighed and sat down beside Dean, taking the laptop gently off of his brother's lap. This entailed no response from the latter, and when Sam shut down the computer, sending the room into complete darkness save for the moon's light shining through the window, and set it on the coffee table in front of him, he sat back against the sofa, closing his own eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Sam mumbled a "Hell, Dean", and peered over at him. Dean's own eyes were shining in the darkness, green orbs staring at the wall that couldn't be seen across the room. Sam laid a hand on Dean's knee.

"I'm sorry." He said, gathering a voice. "I'm sorry all this shit happens and there's nothing we can do about it." _And to hell if that wasn't the most accurate statement since Jesus promised eternal life._

Dean seemed to hear him, and he turned his head towards his little brother. A single tear slid down his cheek as he stared at the hand rested on his leg. He seemed to be trying to say something, but couldn't get past a lump visibly formed in his throat.

He finally looked up at Sam, and his heart literally _broke. _The lost confusion, the hurt, the regret. All of it played in his brother's eyes and it killed him. It wasn't his brother, no. His brother was never this weak. His brother was someone who looked out for _him, _who comforted _him _when he was hurting. Not the other way around.

"I miss him, Sammy." The innocent, child-like fear was laced in the sounds, and Sam knew just how much his brother was hurting. To hell with roles, he'd take care of his brother till hell swallowed them both.

"I know, Dean." Sam responded, moving his hand from Dean's knee to his forearm, gripping it tightly. "I know."

"I-" Dean tried, but dropped his head in dismay.

"Just…I know. Okay, man?" Sam felt like he needed to clarify himself more. He knew the hurt, the pain, the lost feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd felt it when Dean had been pulled to hell, literally. He'd felt it when his father died, when Ellen and Jo died. Hell, he'd felt a little bit of it when Ash died. He didn't need to try to understand Dean, he _did_ understand him.

Dean nodded and let out a soft whimper.

Maybe…

This time was different though.

Dean had lost the same people, including his little brother…twice. Dean had cried, sure, but in frustration. He'd cuss and hit stuff and even sell his own soul. But this? This was different.

This time, Dean had lost someone he'd_ loved_. Honest to God truly and whole-heartedly loved. They didn't show it, no, but whenever they were around each other, whenever they even looked at each other, Sam could see it. And if he were some narrator for a cliché chick flick, he'd call it true love.

And this…this happened. And Dean's world had fallen to ashes.

Still is falling to ashes.

"I'm sorry…" Dean said, lifting his head. Sam, astounded not by the crack in his voice, but by the words he actually said, combined with the fresh tears trailing over the stained ones and the shivers that racked his body, pulled his brother in and held him tightly.

This act alone brought Dean to a puddle, sobs escaping in choked cries. He didn't wrap his arms around Sam, but he didn't reject his brother's embrace either. His head fell to Sam's chest and he fisted a hand into his t-shirt. Sam, laying his head on top of Dean's, simply rocked slightly side to side, the only comfort he could offer to this broken man; his older brother.

When Dean's cries turned to softened whimpers some time later, Sam had already managed to lay back on the thankfully large couch. Dean was beside him, wedged between his little brother and the back cushions. They lay chest to chest, Sam's arms thrown over Dean in a protective gesture.

Hours seemed to have passed, but when Sam glanced over towards the window, the moon was still in the same place it had been fifteen minutes ago. It'd be a long night then.

Sam felt Dean quiet down completely, and he wondered if his brother had fallen asleep. This thought was pushed aside as Dean shifted his head to look up at Sam.

"M' sorry." He murmured, looking at him with eyes that meant what he said. And hell, what did he have to be sorry about? Finally giving in to something a normal human would've fallen for months ago?

"Nothing to be sorry about, Dean." Sam said. "Just sleep, alright?" He encouraged what he said by shifting slightly to let Dean's head fall in the crevice of his arm, where he could hopefully find comfort to rest. Dean sighed in response, nestling his head and closing his eyes.

"I've got you, Dean." Sam whispered. "I've got you."

Dean, eyes barely opening, said, "I know", then fell closed again as sleep overtook him.

Sam, content with knowing he was sleeping, relaxed his muscles. He watched Dean for a while, the way his chest rose and fell against his own, his eyes roaming beneath the lids, the way his mouth opened slightly whenever he let out a low moan. He was having nightmares, of course, but Sam wouldn't wake him. Not until morning, at least.

Morning. Dean would wake up, become his normal self again, slanter into the kitchen yelling for black coffee, and slap Sam over the head when he came in grumbling about making some himself. They'd bicker for a while before Dean would announce he was bored and go out to shoot one of his guns. He'd be him again. And yeah, Sam supposed this was really Dean too, right now. Just another side, a completely different side, really. Both sides had its flaws, and both had its ups. Both, Sam decided, were Dean.

As sleep finally started to take Sam, his last thought was of Cas, and Sam silently cursed him for doing this to his brother.


End file.
